Treacherous

Chapter 8

The new entity was quick to respond, showing almost no personality at all. “History logs show a Mr. Comate was stationed on Tangier 2 as the managing operations director. Approximately 263 months ago communications were lost,” it told them in a female’s monotone voice.

“Why?”

“The log shows a darkness. That is all. The ship was waiting parts for repairs to travel. Daylight faded for approximately sixty-eight hours.” The screens showed the breakdown of months and then the hours of darkness so long ago.

Riddick had moved closer, stepping into her peripheral.

Bell glanced up at him and he shrugged noncommittally. The indifferent look he gave her concerned her even more. Did he know something she didn’t?

“Has the darkness recurred?” she asked slowly, not really sure of the correct questions to ask.

“No.”

Well, that was a relief, right? An infernally bright planet was obviously not a lot of fun when the lights went out, so that would be a good thing not to have happen. Riddick’s unaffected expression made her realize that the darkness would in no way be a problem for him. She shook her head, just wanting the shit to end.

Riddick had been at her elbow and had obviously seen what she’d been working on. Without ever actually seeing him move she was grabbed from the seat. The helmet retracted automatically while she was thrust against the wall and held in place by a hand at her throat. The reflective surface of a shiv shined menacingly at her in the ship’s dim interior.

“Start fuckin’ talkin’, little bitch.”

And she’d thought his voice without water had been from beyond the grave. No, this outdid that. This low growl PROMISED death.

“What?” she gasped out, forcing herself not to struggle against him. She didn’t want to be seen like that, one of his flailing victims.

“Start with who you are.”

“Nobody. I’m a nobody,” she croaked. Tears formed and ran at the pain of wishing to breath. Her hands held his wrist, attempting to hold herself up to relieve the pressure on her throat. Her gaze remained glued to the fascinating eyes staring into hers from only inches away.

Could his vision detect lies? Possibly. He slowly lowered her until her feet touched the floor, though he didn’t release her.

“You can pilot. You knew this ship and its system, and how to take it over. Just a nobody doesn’t know that shit. Knowing how to disable systems and not fuck it up isn’t something everyone knows. Talk.”

“Not THIS ship. I know all ships.”

He was about to speak again when another voice interrupted.

“Sir, I request that you release the captain.”

Riddick spun like a cornered lion, facing off to the new opponent. Bell did note though that he kept her directly behind him. Was his protecting her unconscious or deliberate?

Standing in the doorway was a perfect replica of a human. Only a practiced eye would note that it was in fact an android, a rather good-looking male android. Bell smiled when she thought of what Mr. Comate would have wanted with such a thing. A personal companion android was functionally capable of intercourse, after all.

Again his altered vision must have given him more information than sight alone could, for Riddick immediately dropped his stance, putting the shiv away.

Bell was becoming more curious about the workings of his eyes by the second. HOW did he see things? Light, heat, something else?

“Thank you,” she said into the following silence. “Don’t return until you’re summoned.”

Like the biddable program it was, the android turned and left silently.

Riddick turned to face her, though the explosiveness had gone out of the situation. He just seemed pissed and tired, which made her wonder if he’d slept at all.

“I can pilot because I’m a repo. Used to be in sales, but repo just seemed more my style. I’ve been at it for almost twenty years, though adjust with cryosleep it comes to about six.”

“You’re older than you look.”

Bell smiled, used to the comment, but not expecting it from him. She knew that he was much older in real years than adjusted. Criminals often spent time in cryo to keep them more manageable. “Yeah, I might even be older than you,” she teased, though she knew he had her by a couple years.

“So, CAPTAIN, what do we need to get this box off the ground?”

He wasn’t smiling and she didn’t take his using her new title as good. She couldn’t expect him to be anything but pissed about it.

“Water and food, but mostly water. The ship’s synthesizer is what kept it grounded. It’s too big for anything but space travel and without food and water it wasn’t going anywhere. And we’ll need to check the fuel. Do a few burns to see that what’s in the system is still good. Won’t hurt to top off the tanks if there’s some readily available.”

He nodded and started out of the cockpit.

“Riddick.”

He stopped and cocked his head to the side but didn’t face her.

“I don’t want this ship, but I’d like to make it off this planet alive. I’m a repo. There’s no way you can take this ship from me, I covered my bases well. Without completely disabling the ship, which wouldn’t help either of us, there’s no point in trying. But with it unclaimed, I don’t need it. I have another target. Help me off this rock and this is yours. I’ll even help you cover your tracks.”

He’d turned back as she spoke. “You talk big for a little girl. I would have gotten you off the planet anyway, but I will take the ship.”

She nodded and smiled, “Can I have the android? He looks useful.”

Riddick grinned, a flash of white in the darkness. “I’d wash him first.”

Bell chuckled as she followed him. He’d obviously come to the same conclusion she had on the android’s usefulness to the previous captain.

They separated, both staying within the ship. Bell assumed Riddick went to check for fuel, while she went into the cargo bay.

On a whim she called for the android and he arrived surprisingly quick.

“Do you have a name?”

“My previous owner called me by several names. You may choose whatever you wish.”

Bell frowned. He was as biddable as the entity had been austere. “What is your programmed identity?”

“It was originally Ramsay.”

“Ramsay it is, though I don’t think it fits you. My question is regarding the cargo. What’s on board?”

“Mr. Comate used the Capuan as storage to some point. Supply ships brought most things, but in store there are several of the finer things. Clothing, soaps, alcohol, seeds, vids, those sorts of things. Anything the settlers might want. Mr. Comate was a bit of a dealer.”

Bell rolled her eyes, “Yeah, sure. He had money and was bringing in shit the company would have never supplied and charging them for it.”

“Precisely.”

“Would there be anything that holds water or any foodstuffs.”

“Yes.”

Ramsay took her right to crate after crate of food. Cans of fruit that would please Riddick. The company must not have been supplying the more delicate foods. Comate had stockpiled his own. Tanks clearly marked for water both pleased her and baffled her. Tapping on the side of the synthetic containers told her they were quite full.

“The Capuan was waiting for parts for the synthesizer, correct?”

“Yes, but Mr. Comate wanted to make sure he could still travel.”

“Then why didn’t he?” she asked mostly to herself.

“His death was known to us in the first hour of the darkness. I believe he was trying to reach the safety of the ship and took chances he shouldn’t have.”

“You were onboard,” she surmised.

“As per orders.”

That made sense. Bell doubted if any of the other settlers would have known of Ramsay’s existence. It would have been easier for Comate if he’d kept the android a secret, especially if he was using him as a fuckmate. It was a convenient arrangement for a man with objectionable likes and the money to provide for it.

Four tanks, nine hundred liters each. Used sparingly it would be enough to keep one man alive for nearly a year. She didn’t think she’d have liked Comate if she’d ever met him, but right now she would kiss his corpse. They’d need more, any they could get, but this was a godsend.

She was grinning when she turned to Ramsay after inspecting the tanks. “This is wonderful. They’re sealed, right? No contamination?”

“Yes, they’re sealed. He never had use of them.”

“How much water does the ship hold for septic purposes?”

“Twelve hundred liters, but there’s no way to clean it. The stores are full, but as you know one of the synthesizer’s functions is to recycle water.”

“And is there anything else? I need something to hold water, but are there any more food stuffs?”

“Just the preserver.”

Bell felt like her eyes bugged out. Had she made a wish that was coming true? “The preserver? You’re kidding.”

A preserver was like cryo for food. Instead of freezing meats and dairy products where they could be damaged by the temperatures, a preserver literally just preserved it. Indefinitely. And as she learned more about Comate she could guess that there were probably some nice treasures in there.

Ramsay showed her to the galley and the preserver, which was through a separate door and took up a room that was at least three by five meters. Bell walked through in awe, reading labels and swallowing repeatedly as her mouth watered to get at the foods they boasted of. Beef, chicken, fish, seafoods. Every type of meat she’d ever heard of and then a few extra. Bacon. Oh, bacon! Fruits, baskets of apples, oranges, bananas, peaches, and a dozen others all looking as if they’d just ripened. Ice creams, milk, butter, creams, bread dough, eggs. Eggs. She stopped here and stared through the clear door and the dozens of eggs lined up in their cartons. Eggs. It had been years since she’d had a real egg. So small and fragile. So hard to ship.

She was grinning like a lunatic when she emerged from the aisles of locker style cubby holes. Ramsay had been waiting at the entrance for her. “Everything has been maintained. One preserver shut off suddenly and I had to waste the fish inside, but that was all.”

“Oh, Ramsay, it’s like Christmas. I was worried I’d die here, and now I think I might. Of gluttony.”

He smiled, looking truly pleased.

“Where’s Riddick? I have to show him.”

Central piped in, making her realize she’d called him by his real name. Oops. Good thing she’d cut off communications. Even if the ship’s system figured out he was a wanted criminal it couldn’t alert anyone.

“Passenger Richard is on maintenance level, quadrant two.”